The Road Less Traveled
by Renegade Herald
Summary: Lys has always wanted be a Herald more than anything else in the world. But sometimes things don't quite go the way we would like. The gods can be capricious entities. Rating is for future events.


Disclaimer: All Characters and etc. not recognizable as belonging to Mercedes Lackey and her wonderful books are mine. The ones that ARE recognizable as hers are hers. Not mine. I don't intend to infringe, and use them only for the purpose of telling a story that is in no way meant to infringe on her rights.  
  
Setting: When the story begins Karse has just recently begun to open its borders and Ancar has finally been beaten. Although, the Mage Storms have not yet begun to plague to land. Chapter 1 takes place ten years prior to the rest of the story.

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The Road Less Traveled  
By Renegade Herald  
  
Chapter 1  
When It Rains, It Pours  


  
She was cold, tired, and far too wet with the dreary rain of the region and the early Spring downpours. The horse plodded along beneath her in the muddy soup of the road behind the rest of the caravan.  
  
The line of twenty wagons and three times as many horses was headed south toward the border country. Toward Rethwellan. The South Trade Road of Valdemar was relatively uncrowded in the early morning candlemarks, not that the road was generally very crowded with traffic two weeks travel, by wagon train, from the capitol of Haven anyway. Or so she imagined, not that she had spent all that much time in this particular region in her relatively short lifetime.  
  
The girl, little more than a child really, was riding out the latest deluge on the back of an aged scouting pony behind the family wagon since she was off-duty today. The pony, having spent much of it's own life outdoors, didn't really seem to mind the weather. Or, for that matter, she reflected, the pony didn't even seem to notice it. She shook her head at that thought, slinging water droplets into the cool air, and reflected on how nice it would have been to be indoors, or at the very least, under cover. But no. Her father just HAD to get back on the road this morning.   
  
"I've waited long enough for them to make up their minds already," he had said. "If they haven't decided whether or not they want to go South with their trade goods by now, then they aren't likely to anytime soon." And so the caravan had set out before dawn without the fabric merchants they had encountered in Horn.   
  
She would have rather stayed behind for another season. But the decision wasn't for her to make. Not at the ripe old age of fifteen, nor was it the place of a green scout with the caravan company, and certainly not a decision for an underage child in the country of her birth. It was that of her father, the caravan master, and her mother, who just happened to be the head of the caravan guard, and his equal partner in the venture. Her mother who had once been a member of the Queen's personal guard, but had fallen in love with the far traveling merchant, not to mention the mystique of his travel, and married him. They had eight children, in addition to his first five he'd had with two others.  
  
And at right that moment number seven of the twelve, for no one claimed the eldest and illegitimate son, was none too happy about her situation.   
  
It wasn't really the travel or the inclement weather that had her hackles up though, to be fair. It was the other Situation. The one no one else seemed to really notice, or just didn't seem to give a damn about one way or the other. Maybe they had already given up any hope, or really hadn't had any hope at all since they had arrived in Valdemar a bit later than planned. But she hadn't forgotten. Or given up hope just yet. Not on this. Not on her one dream. Not on the one thing she had been obsessed with since before she could even remember.  
  
The Ashel caravan ranged far over Velgarth, from as far North as the Forest of Sorrows, to as far South as the Bitter Sea. They took on groups of settlers and traders, who did not want to travel in the wilds of whatever land they happened to be traveling though without a guard of some sort. This in addition to their own wagon loads of merchants that traveled with the caravan always. They had spent entire seasons at Kata'shina'in. And even dared, recently, to travel to Sunhame in the newly "opened" Karse. But no matter how far they ranged, they made a point of making it back to Valdemar, the caravan's country of origin, at least once when each of their children were in their thirteenth year.   
  
For they had always held out hopes that one of theirs would be Chosen by a Companion.   
  
Unfortunately, that had not yet happened. And, apparently, or so everyone else seemed to think, it wasn't going to happen this time either.   
  
Never mind, that for the first time in thirteen or so years, they had NOT come to Valdemar when their seventh child had turned thirteen. Held up in Karse by the turmoil within the fractious country that had followed the ascension of the new Son of the Sun (who wasn't even a son at all!), they hadn't been able to get into Valdemar until after she had turned fourteen at Sovvan. Or for that matter, due to an unusually strong snow storm and disastrous avalanche in the mountains, until after the spring thaw.  
  
It would figure that we would be back in Valdemar in time for Justin to turn thirteen, she thought bitterly. Not that being in Valdemar for his thirteenth year did any good. Her brother Justin had died of a fever when he was nine. But they had always seemed to dote more on him and on her next oldest brother, of seventeen years, more than they had her. In fact, frequently she wondered if they even noticed she existed. Though she never doubted that they cared about her. And she hadn't the foggiest clue as to just how she knew that. She just did. The havens knew her parents certainly didn't go out of their way to show their affection for her. Or so it seemed to her.  
  
Why haven't I been chosen? What do They not see in me? Or is it something else. Something bad that They do see in me? But if that's it, then what is it? She knew she was gifted. Her parents knew it, and she suspected all the regular "core" members of the caravan knew it. They certainly didn't protest it when she stopped them from walking into dangerous situations based on a feeling. And her parents were more than happy to accept her counsel when she suspected someone they were dealing with was outright lying to them or misdirecting them.   
  
But Companions didn't seem to even notice she was there right under their noses. Certainly none of them that she had encountered since they had returned to Valdemar once again the previous spring. And there had been several. The one that had nearly run her over on the North Trade Road the previous summer. The one that had accompanied his Chosen at Grayhall on their Circuit. The pair that had come to the camp outside of Haven to speak with her parents. The Herald trainee friend of her older brother, Gaery, that had accompanied him to the Haven camp when he visited on a free day from his Artificer training at the Collegium in Haven. None of them.  
  
It was as if she didn't exist to any of them. No one in white, Herald or Companion, ever seemed to so much as glance in her direction. It was terribly frustrating. And not the least of her frustration was directed at herself. When a Companion was around she just seemed to turn into a goofy little girl who couldn't find her tongue and seemed unable to figure out how to even act around a Herald and their Companion.  
  
Why do I do that? Why do I go all backward when I come face-to-face with the object of my dreams!? But the answers weren't forthcoming from the havens. Unless one counted the fact that at that moment the momentary drizzle decided to pick up into a full blown downpour. Again.  
  
She started to make a rude gesture toward the havens, then thought better of it. After all, how was she going to achieve her Dream if she went around offending the gods? So she just shook her head and kicked her pony into something resembling life to catch back up with the family wagon her younger sibs were riding in.  
  
Later that day, the merchant caravan paused at a wide spot in the road about a quarter of the way between Horn and Thornton to make camp for the night. The rain hadn't let up, and the road had turned into a mire that even the hardy, experienced souls of the Ashel Caravan didn't care to travel in. Literally. In. They had spent the late afternoon digging the cook's wagon out of a particularly bad spot in the road when one of it's wheels decided to separate from the wagon. By the time it was dug out and fixed, everyone who could be spared, including the off-duty scout, was covered in mud. Or at least she was hoping it was just mud. She wasn't so naive to think it was by any means "clean". Whatever clean mud is, she thought sarcastically to herself.   
  
Her job at camp, when not on duty, was to help clean up the horses. For that matter, it was a chore she'd held since she was old enough to ride a horse without being held on. She had always showed an appreciation, and affection, for the horses. And far better communication skills with the animals than with her human counterparts. She just seemed to not quite fit in with most other people.  
  
It was certain that her parents didn't believe in assigning their children chores that they necessarily hated. Unless they had to, of course. Otherwise, all of the children that belonged to core members of the caravan and those of the Ashel family were assigned routine chores that seemed to best suit them and their interests. Assuming the child in question seemed to have any real interests. It was how a, then, 12 year old girl had come to be apprenticed as a scout.   
  
She liked the job, though she would've preferred another. Still thinking of their journey south, and away from her hopes, she didn't notice the children playing down by the creek until she was nearly knocked from her feet by one of the twins.   
  
"Oops," ten year old Kieran said as he rebounded off of her. And the formerly clean clothes she'd been carrying. She managed to stay on her feet, but not by much.  
  
"Sorry, Lys. Din't see ya comin," he said penitently as he backed off a few steps. Like all the rest of the scout's full siblings, he was at least slightly Gifted in some way. He seemed to know instinctually when he was irritating people. In fact, it seemed to be the only emotion or state-of-mind he could pick up on at all. Though, he didn't have to be sensitive to notice the scowl on his older sister's face.  
  
"Damnit Keiran, watch where your going next time!" She snapped. And walked away, missing the look of irritation on his face and the scowl his twin, Kiera, leveled at her back.   
  
She ignored the looks she could literally feel on her back as she stalked down to the bank. She felt almost instantly guilty about her behavior, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She was tired, and had only wanted to be clean. Looking down at the now dirty clothes, and the last she'd had clean, she realized that was a lost hope. Still, she continued down the slope to the creek to rinse the worst of the ichors off of herself.  
  
Afterward, feeling at least marginally human again she wandered back up to camp. Sitting on the fringes of the circle of scouts eating their warm dinner (frequently the only one any of them got that was warm) and who were getting ready to trade off with the daylight shift, she listened in on what they had to say. The topic of the evening seemed to be the ongoing war with Hardorn.  
  
"Can ye imagine the luk on ole' Ancar's face when the veery highburn he'd set hes sights on showed up and stuck the knife in em?" , one of the younger scouts managed to spit out around a mouthful of stew.  
  
"You don't know that that's what happin'd Billy," said one of the oldest hands in the caravan sitting on the fringes near Lys.  
  
"I'm jes' sayin is all," Billy rejoined.   
  
Some of the others in the group looked thoughtful. Lys wondered what she'd missed.   
  
She turned to the elder scout, "What's he talking about Micum?", she asked respectfully and quietly as the others took up another line of conversation. Or as respectfully as she could with her own mouth full of stew soaked bread.  
  
"Ancar's dead. The war's over, or so says the 'eraold that rode through a mark ago."  
  
Lys blinked. "A herald rode into camp?", she asked wondering how on earth she'd missed that. Yet again.   
  
Maria, a former light cavalry mercenary with a near constant "thousand yard stare", except for when she was on duty as a scout, grunted, "About time someone off'ed the foul pig." Then, her profound words of wisdom stated, she went back to staring into the campfire.  
  
The other handful of scouts, who apparently overheard what she had said for they had stopped talking to glance in Maria's direction seemed to decide they didn't have anything better to say after her statement, since they certainly agreed. So, many of them simply finished their stew then stood and disappeared into the growing shadows around the camp to relieve their fellows without a further word.  
  
Lys stood up and wandered over to the family wagon where the twins and the two littles, one three, the other two, were eating dinner with their parents. They seemed disinclined to talk unless you counted her father trying to get his youngest son to eat his peas from the evening stew. Frankly Lys, feeling as if she had plenty food for thought of her own, didn't feel the need to break the silence. Keiran and Kiera got up and went to bed just as wordlessly as most of the rest, though they cast a look at each other that promised they had something to say. Just not to the rest of the brood. Lys watched in silence and felt the old loneliness set in.   
  
She'd never really had a sibling she felt particularly close to. The closest had been the twins, but they'd had been growing distant ever since the company had come into Valdemar nearly a year and a half earlier. It was as if suddenly she wasn't excepted by them anymore. She wondered if it was herself being paranoid. Maybe I'm just over exaggerating. After all, I've been a bit preoccupied and distant and quarrelsome myself. A thought which left her instantly depressed. Her parents looked in her direction as she sat frowning into the fire.   
  
Her father started to say something, but her mother laid a hand on his knee and shook her head ever so slightly when he glanced up at her. He understood the quiet signal she sent him to not remind his nearly sixteen year old daughter to bank the fire and stop brooding. Lys, of course, noticed none of this. They slipped away into the shadows of their wagon with the littles leaving Lys by herself, staring into the fire. She never realized just how much like old Lieutenant Maria, the scout, she looked at that moment. Or how prophetic the similarity would be.  
  
The next morning she roused from her bedroll under the wagon as the rest of the camp began to stir for the coming day. Wiping the sleep sand from her eyes with the fingers of her right hand, she began to wonder whatever in the world possessed her to stay up so late feeling sorry for herself the previous evening. What the hell was I thinking. I've got to work today. Shaking her head at her own perceived stupidity, she rolled to her knees and gathered her bedroll. With that and her few meager personal effects, the rest packed into a small trunk within the family wagon along with the rest of her few clothes, she headed yawning toward the scout horses.   
  
For her few duties, her aged and experienced scout pony was all she really needed. Her job was usually as a forward outrider. Despite her relatively young age, she was good at disappearing into the undergrowth of the forests. Or the plains of Jkatha for that matter. And she was also invaluable at sensing trouble long before the caravan stumbled blissfully unaware into it. And she could use a bow and a sword.   
  
Melina Ashel, mother of 8 and former member of the Queens personal guard, wasn't about to raise her children on the road without teaching them to defend themselves. And defend themselves, they could. Woe to any brigand who underestimated the power of a well-aimed kick or bite by her children. In addition to the basic training, she taught them to use a bow and a knife as soon as they were old enough to understand that neither were toys. With children living on the move that was surprisingly young. Lyshia had learned the basics of all of it by the time she was six. Had trained with her first practice sword from the age of seven. And her siblings, all of them, were no exception. Even her eldest full sister training in Haven to be a Healer could cut someone with a dull piece of pot metal if cornered. So far, none of them had been interested in the Guard, but then all but the eldest, the aforementioned sister, wasn't technically even an adult yet.   
  
She gathered the grooming supplies left in her saddle bags overnight and began to comb out the rust red pony's coat. Rusty leaned into the strokes, enjoying every moment of the early morning rubdown. He knew they had a job to do today, and he seemed to be looking forward to it eagerly. It was infectious. Lys began to look on the coming day with something approaching enthusiasm. Something she had not felt in some time.   
  
So, humming a tune, she headed back into camp to get a quick meal of journeybread and a cup of lukewarm broth. Just short of her destination, the sun just touching the horizon, she heard the camp go silent. Or rather not quite silent. A sound like the sound of chimes being struck with something was just becoming audible in the distance.   
  
She turned slowly to find a beautiful white horse in blue tack with silver hooves and the most lovely blue eyes in all the world enter the edge of camp and pace quietly in her direction. It wasn't a horse, of course, but a Companion. Completely unnoticed by herself, she stops breathing and just stares feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Is this it? Am I finally going to be Chosen? She looked longingly at the shining white creature and could almost feel a hum, Is that magic?, in the air.   
  
The Companion walked up to her...  
  
And then brushed past her to go to the girl standing behind the hopeful scout. Her little ten-year-old sister Kiera looked rapturously into the Companion's eyes then burst into tears of joy.   
  
"She says her name is Layla, and she's chosen me!" she shouted in excitement. The wagon company drew in, eager to see the newly Chosen child and her lifelong partner.   
  
"Our little girl has been Chosen!"   
  
"Look she's going to Haven!"  
  
"One of the children have finally been noticed."  
  
"It's about time," Lys hears the familiar voice of Micum muttering nearby.  
  
All she could do was stare in shock, at the proceedings. They Chose my sister. My little, ten-year-old sister…why!? She's not even near thirteen!  
  
About that time everyone became aware of more chiming hoof beats pounding up to the camp. "Look! I've been Chosen!" shouted Kieran as he trotted into camp on the back of another shining Companion.   
  
The rest of the world began to fade to the background as Lys could only watch in growing horror as her dream shattered painfully before her. She Knew, without understanding how she did that she wouldn't be Chosen. Not now. Probably not ever. She felt as if someone had ripped her heart from her chest and pounded it to powder before her eyes. Like her soul had been sucked out and all that was left was the shell that had carried it.  
  
She felt all that she had ever been, die at that moment.  
  
An empty spot she'd always felt deep in her soul seemed to open just a little wider, or so she perceived it, and threatened to at long last swallow her. And she decided that she didn't care anymore. About any of it. Why bother if no one else seems to notice. Or care.  
  
The caravan and her parents began to provision the two newly chosen twins for the journey back to Haven and see them off while she stood off to the side by herself, breakfast forgotten, feeling lost.   
  
Afterward, once the children had set off back to the North, the caravan, all smiles, gathered itself up and sorted itself back out onto the road. South. South to Rethwellan. And away from Valdemar. It was at that moment that Lyshia decided she would never come back to the land she once called home. She mounted up on old Rusty and spurred him on ahead of the caravan, and away from her lost childhood and the land she had once thought of as home.

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I'm using this story to sort of retrain myself into writing. I've not written a story since, well, let's just say it's been awhile. ;) So feel free to criticize whatever I've messed up or could do better. I tried to fix all the grammatical and spelling errors before posting it, but there are no guarantees that I caught them all. Sorry if I didn't. I know in the rough draft I seemed to be having serious verb tense issues. I tried to repair them all. Even I was getting confused after trying to read the first draft. lol  
  
Feel free to praise me too. I like to have my head scratched just as much as the next Kyree.  
  
The next chapter takes place ten years later and will tell the story of who Lyshia (Lys, for short) has become since she left Valdemar and begin the actual story. I'm still fleshing it all out, and it may take awhile to get more of it online. But I DO have a preliminary outline for where I intend to go with the tale.  
  
And this thing is refusing to hold my text in the original form I typed (with thoughts expressed in italics and such). However I don't have time right now to figure out the human error at the moment so I'll go back and attempt to piece together my error in the near future.  



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